


The Love Child Grows Up.

by springburn



Series: Random musings from The Capaldi character file. [17]
Category: Peter Capaldi fandom (not RPF), The Love Child
Genre: F/M, Gen, Humour, Love, Peter Capaldi character file, Some Explicit Language, finding yourself, relationships, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-02 09:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6561358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/springburn/pseuds/springburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dillon has lost his job......and now his Gran has reunited with his Grandad after forty years. </p><p>Being with his Gran is all that Dillon can really remember, after she stepped in to bring him up after the death of his parents. </p><p>Will she run off and leave him alone? Will his burgeoning relationship with Bernadette falter by the wayside?</p><p>What lies in the future for Dillon Flynn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Morning After the Party.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is leaning more towards the light and humorous rather than angst and trauma.  
> The film is not deep and sorrowful, so I felt this story should reflect that.  
> I have tried to include as many aspects of Dillon's character as I can glean, and little vignettes from the film will appear. As will most of the characters. 
> 
> The tale begins just where the film leaves off. 
> 
> Dillon's grandad has returned from a long 'exile' in the Antipodes, Dillon has just lost his job. But he is celebrating his Gran's new found happiness with all the vigour he can muster. 
> 
> The film is one and a half hours and is available on YouTube although the quality isn't great. It's still watchable though.....if only for an incredibly young and adorable looking Peter, who, although 29 when the film was made, looks a lot younger! The accent is meant to be Lambeth London and, let's not beat about the bush, isn't great, but hey.....he's a Glaswegian doing "mockney" .....it's not that easy!!

THE LOVE CHILD GROWS UP.

CHAPTER ONE.

THE MORNING AFTER THE PARTY.

Dillon Flynn sat up in his little single bed, and switched off his alarm clock. Quite why he had his alarm going off so early was a mystery.  
He had no job.  
Not since he got the sack last week. 

He yawned expansively and hugged his knees.  
Staring around the room that had been his sanctuary since childhood.  
All his things were around him, not that it amounted to much; photos of himself as a child, one with his mother, a snap of his dad, his home made models, records and cassettes, his posters.  
In many ways it was still the room of a child. It never bothered Dillon before, but now it did. 

Everything in his life was turned upside down. 

A short time ago he'd been happily ensconced with his Gran. She was all he had.  
It had always been just the two of them, for as long as he could remember. She'd stepped up to the plate when his parents died.  
Took care of him. 

Now his grandad had popped up out of the blue, with his wads of cash and his antipodian swagger, and thrown everything into confusion. 

Threatening to take his Gran away. Round the world. The very idea! 

Coupled with that, he was now unemployed. 

His job as an accounts clerk may not have been Shangri-la, but it was a job, and the pay was reasonable, there had also been the prospect of promotion....until he'd buggered it all up. Until he'd fallen foul of 'Elvis' and 'Cliff'........got stoned.....and horribly drunk, and ended up in a police cell overnight, causing him to have a vicious hangover, which, in turn, caused him to wipe half his clients from the office computer. 

The stupid computer, which regularly mocked him. 

Then there was Dillon's love life. That had come as a bit of a shock.  
Up until recently, his love life had been severely limited. A quick fumble at the Ice Pit with Melanie, the punk rocker, or his own hand.  
Now things had changed. Drastically. 

Bernadette. 

With her grubby squat, and her wonderful artwork and her crocodile earrings. 

Bernadette, who was soft and warm and willing, and said he had lovely skin.  
Dillon had finally popped his cherry, and very enjoyable it was too.  
He wanted more where that came from......and so, apparently, did she. 

As he sat there, in his stripy pyjamas, under his rocket and spaceman bed linen, contemplating the world in general, he heard Maurice.....his newly acquired grandad, pad along the hallway and go into the bathroom. 

A cacophony of roaring farts followed in his wake.  
Dillon frowned to himself with distaste. 

Ye Gods, was this what his gran was prepared to shackle herself to for the remainder of her natural?  
God help her! 

oOo

"Morning Dill." Gran was frying eggs and bacon, a fag dangling from one corner of her mouth.  
"I'm doing you a lovely cooked breakfast." 

"Gran, I've never eaten a cooked breakfast, I don't want a cooked breakfast. I don't even like cooked breakfast." 

He sat himself down at the plastic clothed table with its novelty salt and pepper pots and it's ketchup bottle in the guise of a plastic tomato, she handed him a mug of builders tea. 

"Suit yourself! Your grandad'll eat it then!" 

Dillon watched the ash from Gran's butt end lengthen, and teeter, before falling off into the pan.  
He grimaced as she stirred it hurriedly into the lard that the eggs were frying in without comment. 

Maurice joined him at the table presently. Scratching his large rounded belly in anticipation. 

"G'Day Dillon! Lovely mornin'."

"Spectacular!" His grandson replied sarcastically.

"What are your plans for the day then, son?" He asked jovially. 

"Goin' down the Job Centre. See what they've got. They won't give me no dole money, so I gotta find somethin'. I need to earn some dosh. I wanna buy something nice for Bernadette." 

"Awww! That's sweet. Ain't that sweet Mo? Bless him, look.....he's all in love." 

"Shut up Gran! I'm not in love. I've only known her a coupla weeks!" 

"Well, I think it's nice! She's a nice girl. Shame she lives in that bloody squat though."

"Yeah, well, one day when she's a famous artist, she'll have one of them swanky penthouses, overlooking the River. You mark my words, I know she will. She's clever, and she's good....I like her stuff."

"She give me one of 'er pictures......boats! Lovely it is.....all dreamy, and colourful." Gran placed the swimming plate of eggs and bacon in front of Maurice. 

"There ya! Sunny Jim! Get yer laughing gear round that!" 

Maurice stared at the plate with a pained expression. 

"Bloody hell Edith! That's a chuffing heart attack right there, strewth!" 

Dillon laughed, and drained his mug. 

"I'm off out. Down the Jobby. See you later Gran. Grandad." 

Reaching for his jacket, he made his way to the door, calling a last cheery goodbye. 

Edith turned to Maurice, as the door slammed shut behind him.

"What am I gonna do about that boy?" She sighed.

"You've gotta tell him Doll. He's a man.....he's gotta fend for himself at some point. You baby him too much!" Maurice pushed the untouched plate away. 

"But he's delicate, and he's sensitive. How can I bugger off round the world and leave him?" 

"He'll have to toughen up! I'll make sure he's alright, don't you fret. Sort him somewhere to live, make sure he's got somewhere.......somewhere better than this bloody dump anyway."

"Bloody cheek.....I told you.....I've bin trying to get us rehoused."

"He needs to make his own way in the world! Not spend the best of his days with his Gran!" Maurice retorted.

"I wanted one of them new places, I thought it might encourage him to strike out on his own.....told him it was only for senior citizens, and that he'd have to find somewhere on his own......but all he did was get upset, and said I thought he was an impediment! I'm all he's got!" 

"Well, you're all I've got too. And I wanna whisk you off, and enjoy some life, before it's too bloody late! Dillon's young.....whole life ahead of him......he'll sort himself out, don't you worry." 

"I spose! You can tell him though! I'm not going to! But not just yet.....eh? Let's let him get a job, get himself settled again first.....otherwise I'll be fucking worrying about him every five minutes!" 

"Too soft for your own good Edith....that's what you are.....a martyr to your cause!" 

"Yeah, well.....I know what it's like to be bloody abandoned.....don't I Mo?!" She glared at him pointedly.


	2. The Job Centre.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dillon is determined to find work. 
> 
> But the job centre is a depressing place. However there is a stroke of luck.......

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE JOB CENTRE.

It was a bright morning but chilly. Dillon stuck his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket and quickened his pace. 

The Job Centre was a grimy dismal place.

"Abandon hope all ye who enter here!"

Various people, mostly men, sat on the dingy grey vinyl covered benches along one wall. A fug of cigarette smoke puffed out as he opened the door. 

Men who's faces told of many such days sitting there, in forlorn expectation. 

The sound of a hacking cough, with a promise of phlegm punctuated the murmur of voices and the ping of the tannoy, announcing each name. 

Dillon crossed to the rows of boards, filled as they were with little cards, each card a potential chance of employment.  
He perused them quietly for some little time. Picking a few at random. 

_'Unskilled'._

Fork lift drivers, warehousemen, manual labourers. Glancing round at the clientele surrounding him, he considered that one day of manual labour would probably render most of them inert for weeks, if not actually be the death of them.  
Is this all that awaited him in life?  
A fruitless struggle from cradle to grave.  
Coming here each week and coughing his lungs up until he was too old or past caring.

It was a sobering thought. 

_'Retail'._

Shelf fillers, floor managers, stock controllers.  
Did he fancy himself at the local Sainsbury's? Not really. In amongst the Baked Beans? Not much chance of betterment there. Unless you could get into management, and that was a slim hope, for someone like him.  
Wrong accent.  
Shop girls. Canteen staff. A gents outfitters in the High Street.  
Measuring men's inside legs all day long? No thanks. If he wanted to cop a feel of another man's balls he could go to Del the barman at The Three Feathers. 

He moved on to _'Banking and Clerical'._

Lots of gaps here. 

Then one caught his eye. A bank in Town. Accounts department. He didn't have all the qualifications.....but....well, what did he have to lose?

Returning the other cards to their slots he took this one to the desk. 

The man behind the counter peered at him from behind the partition. He had the air of one who had long since given up on life. Who's existence was reduced to the importance of breathing in and out, and little else.

"Morning!" Dillon spoke through the porthole.  
"Is it? I hadn't noticed!" The man replied.  
"Is this one taken?" He pushed the card under the screen.  
"Take a seat.....you'll be called." He replied with a weary sigh. 

Toying with the idea of thumbing through a magazine to avoid eye or vocal contact with those around him, Dillon obediently sat down.  
The choices, however were sadly disappointing.  
_'Woman's Weekly' 'The Model Railway Enthusiast' 'The People's Friend'_ and _'Exchange and Mart'._

Dillon settled back with a huff, and let his mind wander. 

A little boy, in grey flannel short trousers, standing at the school gates.  
Scabby knees. Inky fingers.  
Watching, forlorn as the other mummies arrived to take their little ones home. The other kids would nudge each other and titter. He was always the last one standing there. A little bit shabby, clean, but tatty. A wild mop of brown hair. Thin and gangly.  
His Gran would dash up at the very last moment. Always late. Out of breath. Straight from work. She did a cleaning job, and she'd be in her pinny, bright yellow rubber gloves sticking out of a pocket. Sometimes she'd have her curlers in, under a patterned silky scarf. Perpetual fag end in her mouth......she smoked No.6 then. An all pervasive smell of tobacco, punctuated with Domestos.......pungent and evocative.  
"Hello, Dillon, my angel!" She'd give him a perfunctory hug and take his little hand in her own.  
Rough and calloused, stained with nicotine, dragging him along in her wake, making him trot to keep up.  
"What d'ya fancy for your tea pet? I got some nice sausages....."

His thoughts flickered and faded, replaced by a vision of Bernadette, that day.........that glorious day.....when he'd gone to help her decorate.  
Even now he wasn't really sure why he'd knocked and offered to help.....it was most unlike him....so often painfully shy......but there was something about her.......  
Sitting on her bed, she'd unbuttoned his shirt, stroked a hand across his pale skinny chest......and he was lost.  
Afterwards, he'd allowed her to paint him.......what on earth was he thinking? 

Placing himself confidently under her ministrations, the rapt attention she gave him. It was profound. It was spiritual.  
Like a religious experience, or how he imagined a religious experience might be.

She'd made him look like Rameses. Staring at himself in her cloudy mirror, the person who stared back at him, almost unrecognisable, self-assured, alive, for all the world like an actor, playing the role of his life. 

"Dillon Flynn, booth four!" 

He smiled to himself at the memory. She was different was Bernadette, not like other girls he'd met. She was going places.....he was sure of it. 

"Dillon Flynn, BOOTH FOUR!" 

His mind snapped back into the room with a jolt. Glancing around he saw that people were regarding him with frowns of indignation.  
Flustered, he stood, and crossed to booth four as instructed. 

"Sorry!" He beamed. "Miles away!" 

"Well you'd better be wide awake at the interview!" The lady opposite had his file open in front of her.  
"Says you were sacked from your last place?" 

"Yeah. A misunderstanding. But you can contact Celia......she said she'd give me a reference."

"Yes, I see her details here. You've got three O levels?"

"Yes. Art, Music and English. And I went to Night School, got my Computer Technology certificate." 

"Okay, I've given them a ring, and they'll see you. Tomorrow, 10 o clock sharp. Don't be late. Here's the details." She slid a sheet of A4 across the desk and into his waiting hand. 

"Right! That's great! Thanks." He took the proffered page and rose to leave.

"Make sure you dress smart....make an impression." She added as a parting shot.

"I will. Don't worry." 

Dillon emerged into the April sunshine with a spring in his step. 

He could do this. He would make his Gran proud. He could provide for her, as she had always done for him. Get them a better, nicer place. Maybe even a mortgage, get them out of Lambeth. Yeah! The world was his oyster. 

He would break the mould. His grandad had been a crook, and so had all his siblings. His father had been a hippy and a waster, never did a proper days work in his short life.  
Dillon would be different. He had prospects, he had a brain. 

He could do this. 

Whistling cheerfully, he kicked a tin can down the street. 

"Ow, what did I ever do to deserve that!" 

"Oh shut up!" Dillon said, and picked up his pace.


	3. Bernadette.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dillon calls at the squat on his way home from the Job Centre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The relationship between Dillon and his Gran is central to the piece. She is essentially his mother, since he barely remembers his own. She's always been there for him, and has sacrificed a great deal to be around to bring him up. 
> 
> Meeting Bernadette is Dillon's chance. He is a break from tradition in his own family. Unlike them, he is a traditionalist, both morally and spiritually. Despite his single parent upbringing, he wants stability, security and what he perceives to be normality.  
> He also has ambition, he wants to rise up, better himself, change his fortunes and his destiny.

CHAPTER THREE.  
BERNADETTE. 

 

The peeling paint and broken glass on the front door of the squat were a stark contrast to the other houses in the street.  
Although the area was decidedly past it's heyday, there was a certain pride in the people who lived there. The older generation were slowly giving way to a more diverse ethnicity and with that came a shift in culture and a new and exciting vibe. 

Bernadette smiled cheerfully at Dillon, as she opened the door to admit him. She was wearing a man's tattered shirt as a paint smock, a scarf tied around her head bandanna style. Dangly silver earrings in a Celtic design, a smear of red oil paint on her cheek.  
"I wondered if I'd see you today! Come on in!" 

A large canvas stood propped on an easel in the living room, a palette and brushes casually abandoned on an old Formica topped table. 

Dillon stood back to admire. 

"Wow! Bern......that's wonderful!" He breathed. 

"Do you like it? I'm calling it 'Opiate of the Masses.'" She said regarding the work with a critical eye. 

"I love it. It's stunning." He moved around so that he could view it from various angles, his hand holding his chin in mute appreciation. 

"Tea?" Her voice called from the kitchenette. 

"Please! Two sugars!" 

The kitchen was more of a scullery. An old and stained butler sink, ancient wooden larder cupboards and a cooker that was probably new in the fifties.  
Water from the tap had a brownish tinge which looked far from wholesome, but Bernadette didn't seem to notice.

They took their tea upstairs, she leading him willingly by the hand. 

He sat down somewhat nervously on the edge of the bed, and she came close to him, looking into his face with an air of amusement. 

"You have lovely eyes Dillon." She mused. " I'd like to paint you one day, get behind those eyes, I bet they have stories to tell."  
"Humph! Don't know about that. I've never done anything or been anywhere. It's always just been me and Gran." 

"How did your parents die?"

"Car accident. My dad was driving. He was probably stoned....or drunk.....or both!" 

"And he was in a hippy band? Your dad?" 

"Yeah, The Pink Frogs.....they were are cult.....briefly!" 

Dillon began to hum tunefully....... _"when you're a Pink Frog......"_

"That was their big hit huh?" Bernadette slid her hand inside his shirt, stroking his chest gently.

"Yeah.....it's horseshit!" He replied, as her mouth fastened on his insistently.

Dillon found Bernadette endlessly fascinating. He loved her breasts, they were things of beauty. He loved touching them, and the fact that she let him, he loved kissing them too, and she didn't stop him.  
In fact she liked it, and quite categorically told him so.  
Being naked would have been embarrassing normally, but not with her, she made it nice, made it sexy.  
He didn't feel ashamed of his skinny frame, or his knobbly knees, or the fact that he was inexperienced, Bernadette didn't seem to mind one bit.  
She gave him encouragement, coaxed him, told him where to touch her, and how......an excellent teacher.  
When she'd first loosened his jeans and put her hand inside, it felt to Dillon as if all his birthdays and Christmases had come at once.  
He'd never managed to get that far with a girl, he'd either backed off scared, or been told to sod off.......he always seemed to misread the messages women sent out. 

Bloody complicated, the female species, a complete mystery. Baffling in their meaning, no meant yes? Or was it yes meant no? He never knew where he was.  
Crippling shyness didn't help....he needed a few beers to loosen up......and then he found it more difficult to perform adequately when it mattered.  
The result being what can best be described as a late bloomer. 

In other words, he'd been a virgin, and today was to be only his second time. But any shame he may have felt in that confession was soon brushed aside by Bernadette. She didn't care. She wasn't shy, not in the least, she undressed herself, while he watched avidly, then turned her attention to him. Undoing his buttons, the zip of his fly, easing him out, trembling with anticipation. Talking to him, making him feel at ease.  
Touching his body with a careful caress, kissing him, stroking his stiffened prick, his balls......and making him melt into a whimpering puddle. 

The euphoria he felt, that first time, when he'd come inside her, he never thought to be replicated. Good job he carried a packet of three in is pocket. His Gran told him to, in case he ever got lucky.

"Never know, Dillon, you might be just what someone's looking for.....and if you're not prepared, then where will you be? We don't want another generation with a bloody Love Child!" 

Remembering himself travelling into work on the tube afterwards, still in his makeup, his nails painted black, a dirty great smile three foot wide across his face, it had been nothing short of wonderment. 

Would he feel that again? He couldn't wait to find out. 

He took over, easing her back into the pillows, his fingers questing between her legs.

"Ooo Dillon, you're a fast learner!" She whispered. 

Sliding inside her with a sigh and closing his eyes as he began to move gently.  
"I won't break!" She murmured, lifting her legs around him, to urge him deeper.

"You're so beautiful Bern!" He managed to voice, between thrusts. She kissed him to stop his mouth and he groaned into her as she did so. Speeding up and breaking a sweat, although he lacked the animal ferocity of some men, it just wasn't his nature.

Tender, that was Dillon. Sweet and tender.

There were tears in his eyes when he came, and that did it for her.....pushed her over the edge.  
Dillon Flynn, sniffling into her neck, as her body tightened around him and they rode it out together, waves of exhilaration. Tempered with a peaceful afterglow, as they spent the rest of the afternoon curled together, dozing fitfully. 

She toying with his soft curls, he making little noises in his sleep, like a puppy in its wicker basket. 

On waking, they washed and dressed as best they could with the rudimentary toiletry facilities, then walked to the Chinese on the corner for a takeaway. 

"Can I come for a bath tomorrow?" She passed him the fried rice. 

"Yeah, but it'll have to be later.....I've got a job interview at ten." 

"Really? Where?" Her voice muffled around a king prawn ball. 

"Bank, in the City.......accounts department......this could be my big chance!" 

"Sounds boring!"

"No! Don't say that! The pay is good, but I might have to take my maths.....go to Night School again."

"You'll be set up then.......when your Gran goes away?" 

"She won't go away! Not my Gran......she won't be cajoled by that old crook.....she's got more sense!" 

"I'm not so sure. She wants to live a bit, Dillon, spice up her boring life.....you don't need her to take care of you anymore, you're a man now.......she should go.....have fun.....while she still can." 

Dillon frowned crossly.

"Don't you want her to enjoy herself?" Bernadette continued. "She's spent all these years looking after you!" 

"Course I do! But it's a bit drastic.....goin' off like that......I might never see her again.....she might go to Australia......not come back."

"What about you Dillon.....don't you have dreams? Hopes? Fantasies?" 

"I wanted to earn enough money to get us out of that poxy flat, buy a place, and one day, I'd like to be a husband......have kids......a family........do it right, like the rest of my family never did."

"Is that all? Don't you want travel? Adventure? Excitement?" 

"Dunno......I never thought about it.......all the men in my family were crooks and wasters.....I just wanted to be different, break the cycle......be dependable, reliable......normal! Living on my wits just seems to get me into trouble......last time I tried it I ended up in the nick. So I decided it's not me!" 

"Dillon....." She reached across and gave him a chow mein tasting kiss. "You can be all those things one day but still live a little, you don't have to be reckless, but you could go abroad, see some of the world, experience more than just Lambeth!" 

He gazed at her thoughtfully, those baby doe eyes that did something to her, that she couldn't quite put a word to, used to their very best effect. 

"I guess......" 

He pushed the foil carton away.

"Wouldn't wanna go on my Jack though. And I've got no real friends." 

"I'm sure you wouldn't have to go alone Dillon!" She smiled.


	4. The Interview.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of Dillon's interview and he's nervous as he travels into the City on the tube.

CHAPTER FOUR  
THE INTERVIEW. 

 

The tube into Town was packed. Standing room only, everyone swaying slightly with the movement of the carriage.  
Dillon stood, holding onto the plastic knob which dangled from the ceiling. The man next to him was slightly taller. Dillon's nose was inches from his armpit.  
God! Had some people not heard of deodorant......or washing.....? 

Hitting street level he walked briskly to the appointed building, glancing frequently at the address on the top of the sheet the lady at the Job Centre had given him.  
The office was massive, people working away like drones in a massive bee hive. 

He found the reception and gave his name at the desk. Asked to sit, he did so, staring around him with a dazed expression.  
Blimey!  
This place was a step up from working with Celia, Chris and the rest. Potted palms and yukka plants in large containers decorated the open plan foyer.  
Swanky magazines on the glass table in front of him, and a copy of the Financial Times.  
Smoothing his tie he unbuttoned his jacket and fiddled with it nervously. Presently the receptionist sauntered over.  
"Mr. Marchant will see you now!" 

Ushered into the interview room, he stood watching the said Mr Marchant, who's head was down, marking a file with a rather posh fountain pen.  
After several seconds more, Dillon coughed politely, and the boss looked up as if he'd been totally unaware of his presence. 

"Take a seat Mr Finn." He said with a gesture to the seat opposite the large desk.  
"It's Flynn.....with an L." Dillon corrected apologetically. 

Marchant ignored this, and opened the next file down in his pile, thumbing through it for several moments.  
"It says here you've done your computer certificate? But you don't have maths....is that correct?" 

"Yes.....but I'm willing to go back to Night School and take it......." Dillon began. 

"Your ex overseer Celia Jackson has given you a good reference, and yet it says they had to let you go?" His eyes never once left the pages to look at Dillon.

"The boss.....Tony......he said I didn't have 'the bijou little killer streakette' to make it......but I disagree, I think I can, and I'm willing to learn......I just need a chance......that's all." He ended lamely. 

Mr Marchant broke off from his perusal and looked Dillon straight in the eye for the first time. 

"You look young. How old are you?" 

"Twenty eight, nearly twenty nine." 

Marchant raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Alright!" He said, with firmness. "You look smart, clean and well turned out. No tattoos or earrings! I'll give you a chance. See my secretary outside, she'll give you any details you need. Got your P45?"

"Yes, I have. Thank you sir! I won't let you down!" Dillon stood and held out his hand. Marchant regarded it for a second as it hovered there, but declined to take it.  
It was duly withdrawn.

"You can start next week. And see about enrolling for your maths.....you can take it through us, on a special scheme we run......it'll be useful for you to have.......another string to your bow so to speak!" 

Dillon left the building walking on a cloud. 

At the station he bought some flowers, a bunch for his Gran and a bunch for Bernadette. 

When he reached home his Gran was ensconced in the armchair watching Coronation Street, which she'd videoed the day before. Cold cup of tea on the table beside her, a fag burning down in the ashtray. 

He kissed her and gave her the flowers. 

"For you Gran.....I'm celebrating.......I got the job!" 

"Aww, fanks Dill." She smiled, her eyes never leaving the screen. "I'll get tea sorted in a mo, when me Corrie's finished." 

From the bathroom came the sound of joyful sploshing. 

"Grandad in there?" He asked. 

"Nah. It's Bernadette.....she'll be out in a minute." 

Dillon was making tea when a pair of arms were suddenly threaded around his middle from behind.  
A fresh scrubbed and fragrant Bernadette rested her cheek against his back, holding him tight. 

"Oi! Stop that......or Gran will see!" Dillon squirmed. 

"So what! You're allowed to cuddle aren't you?" 

He struggled free of her grasp and picked up the flowers he'd bought, handing them over.

"For you!" 

Bernadette looked so surprised that for a moment she was rendered speechless.

"You bought me flowers?" She said quietly, her face colouring. 

"Yeah! To say thank you......I got the job. Don't you like them?" 

Placing the bouquet to one side, she pulled him down to her by his lapels and kissed him thoroughly.

"You're a sweetheart!" She whispered. "No bloke has ever bought me flowers before. Not ever!" 

They were still in their tight clinch, the kettle whistling behind them insistently, when Gran wandered in. 

"Put her down Dill.....and make the bloody tea!" She grinned, as her grandson jumped backwards as if he'd been caught with his hands in the biscuit tin. 

"Sorry Gran!" 

"Oh don't be so bloody sorft! I'm only ribbing you.....you young people, you should be snogging....if I was your age.....I'd be bloody snogging......in fact I didn't do half enough of it! You staying for tea Bern?" 

"Do you mind Edith? That'd be great!" She peeled herself from Dillon reluctantly. 

"What are we having?" Dillon peered into a bubbling saucepan on the stove as if it were a witches cauldron.

"Kate and Sidney! Wiv greens and mashed spuds!" Gran stubbed out her cig in the sink.

"Steak and kidney! Blimey.......what's the occasion?" 

"Your grandad's got a mate at Smithfield Market......."

Dillon frowned.

"That figures! Buckshee was it?" 

"Shut up Dill.....lay the table would yer.......you're grandad'll be home in a minute then we'll all eat together."


	5. An Evening at the Crown and Anchor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for a celebration, and in the best tradition of Londoner's that means a evening down the pub!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the songs Edith sings are well known to any Londoner of Gran's generation. They are all on google if you want the tunes for them and are unfamiliar.

CHAPTER FIVE.  
A NIGHT AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR. 

The Flynn's and their friends were celebrating Old London style.  
All together, down the pub, with a few pints and a knees up. 

Edith and Maurice. Dillon and Bernadette. Bernadette's house mate, Linda. Stan from the flat below Gran.......who'd asked her to marry him.......and Elvis and Cliff.....who were not strictly invited but who tagged along anyway, and were, for some reason best known to themselves, wearing false beards again.

The evening started tamely enough but by the time Gran had a few gins inside her, it all kicked off.  
Stan began to plonk away at the old upright piano in the corner, and she soon launched into a rendition of  
_"Knees up Mother Brown"_......with actions!  
Skirt held aloft she capered around the clientele, singing lustily...

 

 _"Knees up Mother Brown, knees up Mother Brown_  
_Under the table you must go_  
_E i e i e i o_  
_If I catch you bending, I'll saw your legs right off_  
_Don't get a breeze up, just get yer knees up_  
_Knees up Mother Brown!"_

To their credit, the rest of the punters joined in, and soon the place was heaving.

Dillon watched his Gran with acute embarrassment at first, but when he noticed that no one else seemed to mind, he relaxed and sang along with everyone else. 

Gran lit a fag, and balancing it delicately at one side of her mouth, so that it quivered as she belted forth, flicking ash everywhere, she embarked upon her next little number....

 _"Come, come, come and make eyes at me....._  
_Down at the Old Bull and Bush....."_

Pause for effect......

 _"Da da da da da!"_

_"Come , come, drink some port wine with me_  
_Down the Old Bull and Bush._  
_Hear the little German band......"_

"Everyone!!!!! " She conducted the others dramatically. 

_"Da da da da da da da!!"_

_"Just let me hold your hand Dear......"_

She held Dillon's hand and swung him to his feet......her cheeks were shining with pride in her grandson, and she held his face, squashing it between her fingers and kissed it. Dillon wriggled to free himself but she was relentless. 

_"Do, do, come and take a drink or two._  
_Down at the Old Bull and Bush._  
_BUSH BUSH!"_

Her appreciative audience clapped and cheered. Linda and Bernadette were laughing heartily.  
Dillon laughed too. His self consciousness gone.  
"Love you Gran!" He said, and planted a kiss on her cheek. 

"More! More! Come on Edith....lets have another one!" 

Gran took a hefty slug of gin and crossed to the piano, were Stan drained his pint and waggled it hopefully for a refill.  
Dillon took it from him and went to the bar to get a round in. 

"Come on Stan......lets bash another tune out of that old Joanna!" 

With a flourish, the old boy began to play  
_"Roll out the barrel....."_

And soon everyone was singing again. 

_"Roll out the barrel, we'll have a barrel of fun,_  
_Roll out the barrel, we've got the blues on the run,_  
_Zing boom tararrel, ring out a song of good cheer,_  
_Now's the time to roll the barrel, coz the gang's all here!"_

Bernadette was smiling at Dillon, his eyes shining with affection for his Gran, that and several pints of Watney's Red Barrel.  
"Your Gran is really proud of you Dillon!" She said to him, quietly. "But look at her and Maurice....."  
Dillon glanced across.  
Edith and Maurice were nose to nose, where they sat, laughing and talking quietly.  
"She's happy......she deserves it......" Bernadette added. 

Her grandson suddenly felt rather maudlin. He was just about to say something profound when Elvis interrupted him.  
Holding out a brown paper bag, he winked at Dillon and slurred, 

"Want some Dill? Make your beer taste nicer, Boyo!" 

"No, I bloody don't! I'm not eating that stuff again......bloody hell.....didn't know if I was comin' or goin'. All it made me do is wanna cry! You can keep your sodding mushrooms!" 

Dillon rose and staggered off to the gents. Christ, his head was going to hurt come morning. 

Standing over the pan he tried to aim the stream at the _'Ideal Standard'_ logo at the back of the bowl. 

"Your aim isn't very good is it? You missed by a country mile!" 

Dillon shook himself off and tucked it back inside his trousers. The chain flush was broken, and had been replaced by a lump of parcel string.  
He reached up, pulled it and watched as the water swirled and gurgled. 

"Oh be quiet. I hate lavvies that have too much to say for themselves!" He sneered, and rinsing his hands he left, with a loud and musical belch. 

The night air was chill when they piled out of the Crown and Anchor at closing time.  
It hit them right between the eyes. Mo and Stan walked along together, with Edith and Linda tottering along behind.  
"Fucking hell.....it's freezing!" Edith moaned as she stopped to light a fag. 

Dillon and Bernadette walked along at the back, at first they were holding hands, but then she threaded her arm through his at the elbow and snuggled into him as they walked. Dillon felt as light as air.

"It was a fun evening, Dillon. Will I see you tomorrow?" 

"If you wanna?"

"Yeah." 

"What shall we do?" He asked innocently. 

Maurice, overhearing, raised his eyebrows mockingly. 

"Oh shut up Grandad.....you're as bad as Gran! There are other things two people can do you know!" 

"Yeah, plenty!" Gran's laugh was shrill, "but they're not arf as much fun!" 

"Why don't you take her down to the seaside? Have a day out! Tell you what.....'ere!" 

He handed Dillon a fold of money, from his jacket pocket.

"Take 'er down to Southend for the day.....you'll have a ball! It's on me! 'Ave a bit of fun, once you start that new job it'll be all work, work, work......so make the most of it.....eh?" 

Dillon gazed at the cash, then at his girlfriend, who was flushed and smiling, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

"Cor! Thanks grandad....."

"Aww. Don't thank me......I've not been around all these years to treat my grandson, and look at you both. Not a pot to piss in between the pair of you! Still......that'll change! I'm sure of it! Destined for great things I reckon!"

He thumped Dillon congenially on the back, as they peeled off at Bernadette's street, to go their separate ways.  
Edith called out a loud and cheery goodnight as she, Maurice and Stan ambled away.  
Linda hovered like a spare part, as Dillon and her housemate stood beneath the street light. 

"I'll call for you.....tomorrow then? Around ten?"

"Yeah." She whispered, leaning into him slightly. 

"Been fun hasn't it?" 

"Yeah." 

"Oh for fucks sake, you two just kiss already. So we can get home out of the cold....I'm freezing my tits off here!" Linda blew into her cold hands with a huff. 

"Night then Bern!" 

"Night Dillon." 

He bent his head slightly, and she went up on her toes, their lips met, gently at first, but then sinking into each other as they deepened the kiss.  
Eventually separating, they both giggled nervously. 

"See you tomorrow!" 

"Yeah......bye Dill!" Linda said briskly, and grabbing Bernadette's arm, she dragged her friend away. 

Dillon watched them for a few moments in dazed silence, then turned and ran to catch up with the others.


	6. Southend-on-Sea.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadette and Dillon have a day out at the seaside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Southend is pretty much my home town. I know it like the back of my hand. The town I'm describing is the town of the seventies/eighties when this story is set. 
> 
> Rossi's is still there and has been since the turn of the century. They are as famous here as the Capaldi's in Glasgow or the Bellini's (if you've watched Soft Top Hard Shoulder). Part of a dynasty do Italian ice cream families. 
> 
> Peter Pan's Playground is all new and revamped now, but then it was at the end of its heyday. The famous pier has been the victim of several catastrophic fires but the train still runs. The Bowling Alley is gone too.....another victim of fire. 
> 
> The Kursaal ballroom is a Southend landmark, and venue for many a famous band. It still survives but not as in its former life and awaits regeneration to its past glory.

CHAPTER SIX.  
SOUTHEND-ON-SEA. 

It was a ridiculously excited Dillon who waited on the platform at Fenchurch Street for the train to Southend.....or Sarfend as his Gran referred to it!

He was positively bouncing on his heels with unsuppressed glee. 

"Dillon, you're so funny, you're like a five year old on Christmas morning." 

He looked down at her with a hurt expression. 

"Well, maybe you do all these exciting things all the time....but I don't! It's just work and the pub, or the odd night at the Ice Pit and Gran......that's pretty much it for me!" 

"So imagine how much more excited you'd be to travel to Europe.....or America?" 

Dillon sighed took her hand in his own, he lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. Bernadette felt her chest give a strange lurch. 

"What was that for?" She said kindly. 

"I dunno. It's just that I've never really gone on any dates before, not proper ones, only to the pub or to the pictures. They've never stuck around long enough. People always seem to want something and I never seem to know what it is. So I always get it wrong. I guess I'm just not very good at relationship stuff......never really got the chance to find out.......until now.......and I'm shitting myself cos I like you and I don't want to bugger it up." 

"Dillon you're a sweetheart, and a gentleman......and that's rare these days. You're just a late starter, that's all. No shame in that. You are not your family, you are you, and you have to go with what feels right for you, not some stereotype you think you should conform to. So stay as you are.....don't try to change. I like you as you." 

The train pulled out and they settled themselves, she snuggled up against him with a happy sigh. 

"It's a lovely day Dillon, let's have some fun, enjoy ourselves! And not think about it too much. Just let it happen, and don't try to push it. You and I are very different.....praps that's why it works......opposites attract!!"

He didn't answer but stared thoughtfully out of the window, as the Thames estuary whizzed by, in a blur of little boats and gently lapping water. 

oOo

For Dillon the last couple of weeks had been a haze of happiness that he'd never really experienced before.  
From the very first moment, he'd known, that was why he'd sat down next to her in the pub and started to talk, even though he was usually so shy, and why he'd pinched the note he'd seen her leave over the door of the squat, for Linda, why he'd read it, and followed her to the pub in the first place.....because he'd known.  
She even smiled gently but not mockingly at his ridiculous reindeer jumper his Gran had bought him.  
It was the reason he knocked on her door the following day to ask if could help her decorate. 

It was a certain something.

Bernadette was great company, she was different, exciting, and like no girl that he'd ever met before.  
She was clever and articulate and he felt he was most definitely punching above his weight, although when he voiced this to her, she was angry with him. 

"That's rubbish Dill. I think you're handsome, you have a lovely smile. You're not thick either....far from it.....and you're artistic too......look at those models you made......in your bedroom........don't keep putting yourself down. You're not like any man I've ever been with.....you're different, in a nice way........you're shy.....that's true, but there's nowt wrong with that. Now snap out of it and show this girl a good time!!" 

oOo

They went ten-pin bowling on the pier. Bernadette was useless but Dillon actually wasn't bad.....he got a couple of strikes.....much to his own amazement. His technique left a lot to be desired but it didn't detract from the enjoyment. 

A little train ran the entire length of the pier. One and a quarter miles out into the estuary.  
Longest pier in the world.  
A fisherman took their photo at the end, with Bernadette's little instamatic, leaning against the rail.  
"I'll drop the film into Boot's when we get back, they do a one hour develop there." She said, "it'll be a souvenir of the day."

Afterwards they wandered along the prom, past the slot machine arcades and the Kursaal, sadly closed now and looking as though it had seen better days. The whole place had an air of faded gentility, Victorian splendour frayed at the edges. 

Dillon bought them both cod and chips and they ate it out of the newspaper, sitting on a wooden bench overlooking the front. Swimming in vinegar, with a pickled gerkin on the side. 

She laughed at his greasy chin and fingers, and leaned over him to wipe his mouth with her hanky, then kissed him deeply, her thumb against his cheek. 

"You're so cute Dillon......you know that, right?" 

"Oh, shut up! You're taking the piss!" 

She gave him an injured look. 

"I'm not! I mean it......you're lovely.......and you're kind.......and you treat me nice. No one's ever done that before. My last boyfriend was a knob end.......and he was violent.......especially when he got drunk. That's how I ended up in the squat, with Linda......had to get out in a hurry. Packed my stuff and left while he was away at work." 

Dillon looked shocked.

"What.....he hit you?"

"Yeah, a coupla times, not bad but I knew I had to get away." 

"Bern, that's terrible. No man should ever hit a woman, not ever, ever......."

"And that's why I like you......because I trust you, and I know you wouldn't hurt me." 

She nuzzled against the folds of his jacket, and his arm went around her shoulder comfortably, just like it belonged there, like it was right. 

"Hey.....why don't we walk down the cliff steps and go to Peter Pan's Playground......go on the rides?" He said suddenly.

"What after eating chish and fips? We'll throw up!"

"Nah! It'll be fine.....come on, you're always having a go at me......now where's your sense of adventure?" 

Bernadette threw back her head and laughed. 

"Alright then! Indiana Sodding Jones!! Come on.....I'll race you!" 

She thumped his arm, leapt up and set off at a run, down the dozens of steps that led from the top of the town to the seafront. He chased her and it made her shriek with laughter to see the way he ran.....one arm windmilling, running quite fast, but from the knees, tall and gawky, like he hadn't got used to how long his own limbs were. 

Breathless, they reached the entrance gate and took a moment to recover before going inside.  
"I beat you fair and square!" She chuckled.  
"Bollocks did you! You had a head start, it was a tie!" He puffed in return. 

First stop was the Crooked House, sniggering together inside the Hall of Mirrors, one of which made Dillon look as if his body were five foot long and his legs only a foot. Bernadette was overcome with a fit of the giggles, and had tears running down her face. 

"Oompaloompa" 

Next he took her on the Ghost Train, which was an ideal opportunity to cuddle her as close as possible, as things trailed down and touched her hair or jumped out at her, making her scream. 

They had their photos taken in the little booth.......in various stages of snogging.....tearing the four pictures across the middle and keeping two each. 

The waltzer made Dillon's head spin, and he marvelled at how the who guy ran it, moved across the ride as it spun, seemingly unfazed by the rotary motion. 

"How the hell does he do that all day? I wouldn't be able to stand up after five minutes!!" 

There was a shooting gallery........and she urged him to channel his inner hunter gatherer and have a go. He'd never fired a gun before in his life, nor had Bernadette. She soon found she couldn't hit a barn door at ten paces, but Dillon managed to hit four ducks, and won a fluffy rabbit for his pains. He handed it to her, with a peck on the cheek.

"There you go.....don't say I never give you nuffin!" 

She beamed up at him and tucked it inside her jacket, and they moved on to the Big Wheel. 

"If I threw up from way up here, I could pebble dash all the people below." she mused, as she peered down to the ground.  
"That is actually disgusting!" He retorted, pulling a face at the mere thought. 

oOo

They emerged from the fairground with two enormous candy flosses. On a wooden stick. Pink and sweet and sticky. Tooth rottingly good.  
Rinsing their fingers and chins afterwards in the drinking fountain at the end of the funicular lift. 

Dillon bought her a black pork pie hat, from a beach stall, which suited her really well, the hatband read....."kiss me quick, squeeze me slowly." 

Walking hand in hand along the beach, as the tide was coming in, they threw stones, trying to skim them, then took off their shoes and paddled.  
It was far too cold to swim, but the water cooled hot and tired feet. 

"It's bloody freezing." Dillon hopped about comically at the waters edge. 

"Dillon, I swear you have the longest toes I've ever seen......how big are your feet?" 

"I'm a ten or an eleven.....depending.......but I'm tall......six foot and a bit.....if they were any smaller I'd fall over! Besides.....you know what they say about men with big feet!"  
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah and I can vouch for the truth in that!" She sniggered, taking his arm to balance herself as the stones crippled her bare feet. 

"Really?" Now he seemed surprised and more that a little pleased. "Do you think I'm big then?" 

"Let's put it this way Dill, there's more than enough to go round!" She laughed. 

He shrugged his shoulders matter of factly and smirked, as if it was the sort of thing girls told him every day of the week. 

"And oh.......don't you look all pleased with yourself, now I've praised your manhood!! Gah! Men! You're all the bloody same!" She chuckled. 

Dillon waded back, onto dry land and they sat down side by side on the sand, wriggling their sandy toes. 

"This is fun Dillon. Thank you. I've had such a good time."

He looked down at her, and he felt his heart soar. She was lovely......he liked her, she liked him.....and this was wonderful. 

"What say we go to Rossi's. Get a cup of Rosie Lee.....or an ice cream?" He suggested. 

"Good thinking Batman!" 

He struggled to his feet then held out a hand to haul her up. Pushed his damp feet back into his shoes and they strolled along to the cafe. 

The famous Italian family of Rossi. Immigrants who came from the Motherland at the turn of the century, one of several well known Italian families who made their fortune in a new land, in the ice cream trade.  
Rossi's were one of the very best. 

"Two 99's please. Big ones!" 

Dillon passed the monster ice cream to his lady. A perfection in confection. Creamy, white and whipped into a swirl on top of the wafer cone, with a chocolate flake sticking out of the side. 

Things just didn't get better than this! 

oOo

What a day they'd had. Bernadette dozed against his shoulder as the train moved through Basildon, Upminster, Limehouse and pulled into Fenchurch Street.  
He nudged her gently. 

"Hey, Bern.....we're here."  
She yawned and sat up. Her new hat askew.  
They left the train and sauntered to their bus stop. 

"When we get back, will you let me take you to bed?" He whispered as they strolled, tired but happy.  
She looked up at him, her face almost disbelieving. 

"See! That's what I like so much about you......." She said, her head against his arm.  
"........You don't assume.....you ask permission.......have you any idea how endearing that makes you Dillon?" 

"Blimey! Does it? I didn't know......I just thought......" She held a hand up and stopped him. 

"You just thought! That's it! You don't have to say any more......the fact that you did....just....think.....it means a lot......and it's romantic, not to mention the fact that you have a big dick.....which is also a determining factor in my decision to say yes to your request......" 

Dillon glanced around him at the passersby.......scandalised, his face flushing bright crimson. 

"Crikey, Bern.....keep it down! Someone'll hear!!" 

"Who cares! Come on.....lover boy......" she cried, taking his hand and breaking into a run. "Quick! Here comes our bus!"


	7. First Day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dillon's first day in his new job. 
> 
> It isn't quite what he expected, but it could have been a lot worse.....

CHAPTER SEVEN.  
FIRST DAY.

Dillon Flynn felt sick.   
His stomach contained what felt like a restless hamster.   
Nerves.  
He entered the office building more than half an hour early. 

"You're keen!" The receptionist remarked.   
Dillon gave a wan smile and made his way to his new desk. 

The others greeted him warmly enough and seemed friendly. His overseer was Joyce, a jovial Nigerian lady with a colourful wardrobe.   
She took him under her wing, showed him what to do.   
If he was honest Dillon was like a fish out of water. This place was a whole different ball game from the tin pot company he'd worked for previously. His faith in his own abilities and his confidence in himself generally faltered when faced with the enormity of the amount of stuff he was going to have to learn. 

In his own mind he was sure he was in over his head. But he applied himself diligently and by lunchtime was feeling a little less rattled.   
His opposite number was Deirdre. Around his own age, dazzlingly pretty, but in a painted sort of way, not like Bernadette. 

She was loud and brash and confident, where Berni was quiet and measured and serene.   
Deirdre made Dillon feel two feet tall and extremely inadequate. It didn't help that she elected to take him for lunch. 

Seated opposite him at the City Pipe, filled with Bankers and Traders and Dealers. Well suited and booted. Cash to splash.   
He sipped an orange juice carefully as she slapped into a large glass of red.   
"Don't you drink Dillon?" She asked, leaning forwards and poking him in the chest with a crimson painted talon.   
"Not at lunchtime, no." He replied, applying himself intently to his roast beef sandwich.   
"You should have a glass of vino.....help you through the afternoon." She sat back and eyed him laviciously. 

"Nah.....I'm a Bitter man, don't like wine much." Dillon replied through a mouthful. 

"So how are you liking it so far?" She probed. "It's a good company to work for. Plenty of perks. They have great parties.....'specially at Christmas. I wouldn't mind getting you in the stationary cupboard." 

Christ! She was flirting.......wasn't she? Wasn't that flirting......saying stuff like that? Or was she just trying to discombobulate him? Sound him out? See which way the wind blew?

God.....he wasn't good at this, he hadn't a clue.   
He coloured visibly and squirmed in his chair. 

"Well, it's okay so far." He hedged, "I've got to enrol in their scheme to do my maths. I failed it at school, didn't resit......should have done, but I couldn't be bothered. Just wanted to get out there....you know." 

Deirdre ignored him and continued along her own path.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" She crossed her legs high, and stuck out her chest slightly. 

'How do I answer that?' He thought, 'if I say yes she'll think I fancy her. If I say no, or if I prevaricate she'll think I'm being rude. Bloody hell Dillon, what is it with women? Always an enigma, wrapped within a mystery.'

He always knew where he was with Bernadette, that was the wonderful thing about her, no pretence, no play-acting, she was just natural, and simple, and Dillon never felt as if someone was squeezing his nuts.....which is how he felt right now. 

The truth was, Dillon did think she was pretty, but didn't find her particularly attractive at all.  
Too much of everything for his taste, gobby too. Too full on for him, he felt very uncomfortable under her baleful stare.   
"You've got a lovely face." Was what he plumped for. 

She gave a smirk of pleasure, but didn't give up. 

"Would you like to kiss me?" 

'Oh lord.....please open up the ground and pull me down, never to see the light of day again!'  
Dillon swallowed.

"Not really. No offence, but I don't think you're my type." 

Her smile was wiped away in an instant. Replaced with an astonished glare.

"Are you a poofter?" She asked.....her voice just a little too loud. 

Dillon glanced around him, but the hubbub in the place had drowned the words. 

"No I'm not!" he hissed, "why would you think that?" 

"Well, the hair, the hands, the whole look.....it's a bit.....I don't know.......girly!" 

Dillon drained his glass, and rose to his feet with all the dignity he could muster. 

"Two things....." His gander was up. "One.....I've got a girlfriend, and she thinks I look okay, and the second......so what if I was a poof? What business would that be of yours? And why would it matter? You may just as well ask if I'm human. I'll see you later, Deirdre, back at the office."

He left her sitting there. Her jaw on the floor. 

oOo

After this inauspicious start, Dillon confidently expected the rest of his day to continue in a downward spiral.   
But he was wrong. It didn't. He completed a task set for him by Joyce in good time, and she was pleased with him.   
"Oooo! Joyce's new golden boy!" Crooned Deirdre.   
"Be quiet, Deirdre, and get on with your work. You should be trying to make Dillon feel welcome, rather than making stupid remarks!"   
Joyce turned to Dillon and whispered quietly.  
"Has she tried it on with you yet?"   
He nodded.   
"She does it with everyone when they're new. It's her way. But she's harmless enough once you get to know her, she's just very insecure."   
The word 'insecure' hadn't been the one that immediately sprang to mind when he'd shared lunch with Deirdre, but he supposed that it could be an explanation for her behaviour, she wanted to be liked........yes, maybe that was it. Dillon resolved to be nice to her in future, and see if he could win her over, whilst at the same time, avoiding her unwelcome advances. 

The day ended quickly. As first days go it hadn't been as bad as Dillon expected.   
The people seemed nice, and they didn't seem to think he was an idiot, so that was something.   
The lavatory in the gents didn't talk to him, that was something too.....for which Dillon was very grateful.  
So all in all pretty successful. 

oOo

It was after six when he arrived home and the flat was empty.   
The oven was on low, and a note stuck to the top by the gas burners. 

"Dillon. Dinner in the oven. Me and Maurice have gone out." 

Well that was bloody obvious!

Opening the oven carefully, he peered in. It contained a casserole, and it smelled good.   
Dillon dished it onto a plate with a sigh. He'd been looking forward to telling Gran about his day.   
Now he just felt a bit deflated.

Just as he was sitting down to eat, the door bell rang.   
It was Bernadette. 

"Am I glad to see you!" He said, standing back to let her in. 

"How'd it go?" 

"Good! Deirdre is a bit of a so and so, but I think I've got her sussed. Joyce.....that's my superior.....thinks she's insecure........" He tailed off when he could see that Bernadette was filled with barely suppressed excitement. 

"What is it? What's up?" 

"Oh, Dillon, I had to come.....I'm bursting.......and I needed to tell someone, and it had to be you...." 

"What is it? You can't be pregnant, I haven't known you long enough!" 

Bernadette laughed dryly and gave him a playful thump. 

"No, silly! It's not that!! I've sold a picture!" She stood back for dramatic effect. 

Dillon was gobsmacked. 

"Really? Wow......who to?" 

"I put 'Opiate of the Masses' in the window of the little art shop in the high street, and this bloke went in and bought it.......£100!" 

"You're kidding! Oh Bern, that's so cool. It's the first of many, I know....word'll get round, you'll get commissions......it could really be the start of something big!" 

"You really have faith in me don't you? You really think I can make it!" 

"Of course I do! You're wonderful, and you're talented. I told you I liked your stuff and I meant it." 

"Thank you Dillon, you're a sweetheart, and I love you." 

She threw her arms around his neck and began kissing him hungrily. It did not escape his notice that she'd said the L word. But he wasn't sure how he should react.   
Was it just a thing she said, like a throw away term of endearment? Or was she really in love with him? Was he meant to say something back? Or say he loved her too? 

Did he love her?

Dillon took all of three seconds to think about it, before he lifted her off her feet without breaking the kiss.   
"Shit! Bern.....I bloody love you too!" He breathed, his mouth pulling back from her's.  
They regarded each other in silence for a few seconds, in mutual wonder.   
Before falling into each other again in a frenzy. 

"I've only got a single bed...." He murmured, as she began deliberately stripping him of his clothes, his dinner completely forgotten.   
"Who gives a shit.....come on!" She responded, as they closed the bedroom door behind them.


	8. Bombshell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dillon's grandad has an announcement to make and Dillon doesn't take it well.

CHAPTER EIGHT.  
BOMBSHELL. 

Three months passed in the blink of an eye. 

Dillon's expectations and fears for his new employment proved unfounded. 

He fitted in. They liked him.   
Deirdre stopped propositioning him and became quite friendly, but in a nice way.   
Joyce was a dear, even though she treated him a little like he was her twelve year old son. 

She told him he looked as if he needed mothering! Poor little orphan boy that he was!

Dillon bore this stoically and with out a fuss, because she was kindly and she meant well. Although he did try to gently remind her he was, in fact, twenty-nine. 

Wednesday evening was his maths tuition night. He hated every single moment of it with a vehemence that was difficult to quantify. 

Everyone there was younger than himself, most of whom were only just out of school and were doing this class instead of a resit. He sat alone, at the back, and battled through. If he could just learn enough to get him through the exam, it was all he wanted to do, and the quicker the torment ended, the better. The one shining beacon of light on that specific evening was that Bernadette would wait for him to come out of class and they'd spend the rest of the night together. 

She called it "Wednesday fuck night." And Dillon wasn't about to complain. 

It certainly took the edge off poring over logarithms and algebra. 

Bernadette had managed to sell two more of her pictures, and began trawling the galleries with her portfolio in the hope of a bit of exhibition space. There was no luck so far but Dillon was sure it was only a matter of time. 

His undented faith in her abilities never wavered, and the two of them drew closer and closer as the months progressed. 

oOo

So it was, one evening, when Bernadette came round to Gran's for a bath and dinner, that Maurice decided it was time to make an announcement. 

"My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen!" He began theatrically. "I wish to inform you all......"

"Awww, stop it Mo......just spit it out." Said Gran, nervously glancing at Dillon. 

"Alright, I will......me and Edith here......what I mean to say is.......Edith and me......we're going away. On a trip.....a cruise, around the world.......she's agreed to come and I'm really chuffed." 

He looked first at Edith, then at Dillon, who was seated next to Bernadette.   
Dillon seemed to digest the information slowly. 

Then, with great deliberation, he placed his knife and fork carefully down. Pushed his plate away, rose to his feet and left the kitchen without a word. 

The slam of his bedroom door the only sound. 

Gran watched him go, "Dill?" She cried, devastated. "Come back......."

Bernadette stood up......  
"Leave him, Edith......I'll go talk to him." She placed her hand comfortingly on Gran's arm, and followed in Dillon's wake. 

Opening his bedroom door, she peeped in. 

Dillon was lying face down, stretched out on his bed. 

"Dillon?" 

Crossing the room, she sat on the edge of the mattress, and placed a hand soothingly in the centre of his back. 

"Dillon? You okay?" 

"Yeah, absolutely bloody brilliant!" Came the muffled reply from within the pillow. 

"Dillon, turn over. Talk to me." 

With reluctance he obeyed. His face was wet. Downcast almost to the point of despair. 

"I didn't think she'd actually go through with it Bern. What's gonna happen to me? Where will I go?" 

"Dillon. You're a grown up. What do you mean, what's gonna happen to you? You'll look after yourself, find somewhere to live, and carry on." 

"That's not what I meant. I'll have no one. No family at all. She's all I've ever known, always there. Ever since I can remember. More than a mother, because I don't really remember her, it's just always been the two of us."

"Dillon, it's not true, that you've got no one. You've got me. Your Gran is going to live a little. It's selfish of you to act like this. You've upset her. Made her feel bad about going. And that's not fair. She loves you, you know that, but she's entitled to go her own way now, she doesn't have to be tied to you forever. Look at it this way.....you wouldn't think twice about going off, or getting married and leaving her on her own. What's the difference when it's the other way around?" 

"But I love her Bern. And I'm not going to do that. Not for a long time. I feel like I'm never going to see her again. Bet your bottom dollar she'll go to Australia, I think she's secretly always wanted to. She's gonna leave a dirty great hole. And I dunno what I'm gonna do. I'll miss her like crazy." 

"Dillon, come here!" She held her arms out to him, and he leaned into her embrace. 

"You've got me, okay. I'm here for you. I know she's been the one you've always leaned on, but it's time, Dillon. Time you branched out on your own, and let her do the same. She's got a lot of life in her yet, she's fit and reasonably healthy and has time to really go for it, enjoy herself. Think how much she sacrificed when she took you on. And she's never regretted it for one second. She told me so." 

"Sorry Bern. Sorry I'm such a bloody baby. But it's a shock. I just feel like we're being ripped apart. Like she'll just be gone and that's it, forever........you know?" 

"Yes. I do know. But hey, you'll be able to keep in touch. Postcards, letters, phone calls. And maybe if she does go to Oz, you could go out there, and visit, stay a while?" 

"Me? Go to Australia? It's like the other side of the world."

"There's opportunity there Dillon.....a chance to escape grubby old Lambeth and start a whole new life! None of us know what's around the corner. It would be an adventure!" 

"But what about you? I couldn't just swan off and leave you behind......I couldn't Bern.....you're so special to me, you're everything......I love you as much as I love Gran. God! It's like I'm tearing myself in two." He began to sniffle. 

Lifting his chin with a finger, she pressed her lips to his gently, his reaction was immediate. Hungry, desperate, kissing her back like his life depended on it. Eventually she pulled away. 

"You're a sweetheart, always trying to do right by everyone, except what might be right for you.   
Dillon......let your Gran go. Give her your blessing. Wish her every single happiness. It may be that she comes back after her holiday, gets a place of her own, with Mo. If she does, fine.....you'll see her nearly as often as you do now........but......if she doesn't want to come back here, then.........and only then.........you can think about your future, what you want from life......and what you're going to do next. Okay?" 

Surrounding her with his arms, he pulled her close and held her there, so tight, as if he never wanted to let go. 

"Christ! I love you Bern. I don't know what I'd do without you. You make everything okay, and I'm such a twit.....I'm sorry."

She kissed him again. 

"You're not a twit Dillon, you're just a guy who has had one single person to influence them, for pretty much their whole life, and you're finding that difficult to give up. You care......deeply. There's no shame in that! None at all." 

Wiping his face with the back of his hand, Dillon rose and with Bernadette's hand clutched in his, he went back to the kitchen, where Maurice and his Gran were talking quietly. 

They both looked up as he approached.

"Dillon.....we've decided......"

"No Gran! Stop! Hear me out. You've gotta go. You've gotta go cruising and see the world and have a bloody good time. And you mustn't worry about me. Because I've got Bern. She'll look after me.....won't you Bern?" He turned to his lady with a pleading expression. "Well, we'll look after each other.....and I'm settled at work now, and I'll find a place to rent......move out of here, or maybe buy my own place one day.....who knows? Anyway.....you and Grandad.....you gotta go!" 

Maurice clapped his grandson on the back with a smile. 

"Well done lad!" 

"Are you sure Dillon?" Gran looked as if she were about to burst into tears.

"Quite sure. I'll be fine! You'll have the time of your life.....I know it!" 

Maurice spoke again.

"Dillon, because you went off, you didn't give me time to finish.....but I've got plenty of money, you know that......so I'm going to put some into an account for you, call it your inheritance, call it what you will. But it'll be enough to get you a deposit on a place of your own, get you out of here....somewhere decent to live. A new start.....fresh......what do you say?" 

"Wow! Grandad......thank you! That's amazing. I never would have.......thank you so much!" 

"Right! That's settled then! Now let's all go down the Crown and celebrate. Come on Ede, get yer coat!"


	9. Home Sweet Home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dillon is in a state of upheaval. 
> 
> Gran is reminiscing. Great changes are afoot.

CHAPTER NINE.  
HOME SWEET HOME.

Dillon felt as if the very heart of his existence was being torn apart.  
Each day he went to work. Solid and dependable. He didn't take sick time, he always turned up on the dot and never shirked. 

The company were very pleased with him. He received the result of his maths paper the following month after Gran and Maurice's big announcement. 

He passed. It was a hollow victory however, because he was keenly sensitive to the upheaval.

Everything he'd ever known was changing. Nothing would be the same after his Gran left. The more he dwelt upon it, more empty he became. 

It was no great surprise then, that Elvis and Cliff found him alone in the pub on a Monday night, attempting to drown his sorrows in lager.  
Already pretty far gone by the time they joined him, it was only one simple step to more magic mushrooms.  


Dillon's face went numb.  
Inside his head was a kaleidoscope of swirling colours and shapes, none of which made much sense.  
The sink in the gents spoke to him with distain.

"You'd better not throw up in me. I've had more lumps of carrot down my plug hole than a teenager has zits."

Dillon hung precariously over the basin.

"I know why I can hear you talking. It's because my parents took drugs.....before they had me.....and it's affected my brain. That's what it is. So you can just shut up because I'm not going to listen any more!" 

Staggering out into the saloon bar, he found his two friends waiting to leave. 

Couldn't remember how he got back to their place. Elvis sitting crossed legged, meditating.  
Cliff smoking weed....which stunk to high heaven.

"I can't feel my feet." He grizzled. "I think they've fallen off." 

"Don't be daft Boyo. You couldn't have walked here with no feet. Dillon Peace and Harmony Ziggyzong Zebedee Moon Flynn. Your feet are still there, inside your shoes."

Dillon started to cry. 

"All I keep hearing is my dad saying....Dillon.....you are a Pink Frog!" 

"I'm a Pink frog! That's me. A bloody Pink Frog." 

He continued to sob uncontrollably. Until a ring on the doorbell rudely interrupted him. 

It was Bernadette.

She was angry. 

"Is he here?" 

"He might be. He might not be." Elvis was reticent. 

"Just bloody let me in Elvis, you jerk. Have you given him that shit again? You know what happened last time!" 

Bernadette surveyed the weeping wreck that was her boyfriend with her hands on her hips. 

"Shame on you two......bloody Laurel and Hardy! Come on Dillon, I'm taking you back to mine." 

oOo

Dillon's eyes opened slowly and heavily. His head felt as if an explosion had gone off very close to it. His ears were ringing.  
Bernadette stood beside him, looking down and shaking her head sagely. 

"Am I dead?" He groaned.

"You will be if you take that stuff again." She replied. " because if the drugs don't kill you, I will." 

"Now get yourself up, and get yourself washed and off to work. And pull yourself together."

"I phoned your Gran. She was worried sick about you. I told her you were with me. She said that if you lost your job over this she'd belt you one." 

Dillon groaned again. 

"Dillon you've got to stop this. Wallowing in self pity. Get your bloody finger out. Start looking for somewhere to live, and help your Gran sort her stuff out. There's a lot to be done before she leaves, and it's not fair to leave it all to her." 

She ripped the covers off the bed. Leaving him lying in nothing but his boxers. 

"Get up!" She said fiercely. 

oOo

Over the next month, with a supreme effort of will, Dillon pulled himself together.  
He took on the demon of his depressed state, and faced it head on.

Despite this, there was a restlessness. A sense of impending doom. 

Dillon and his Gran were packing boxes.  
They finished up sitting on the floor together going through an old photo album.  
Some were of his parents, both before and just after he came along. 

Gran's heart ached when she saw the little boy he'd once been. Somehow so lost and vulnerable.  
She hadn't always had patience with him, and he needed it. She chided herself for that. It was hard to be a mother to a withdrawn child that wasn't yours.  
It wasn't helped by the fact that the boy was such a square peg in a round hole.  
So serious and thoughtful.  
Rather clingy. And Edith Flynn had no time for clingy. She was used to strength. All the Flynn women were strong and the men lived off their wits, ducking and diving, bobbing and weaving, always coming out on top.  
Little Dillon was not like this at all. 

Living alone was going to be a challenge for him. He was never one to make friends easily, even as a youngster. Always rather solitary. Having no parents somehow set him apart from the other kids.  
It broke her heart when he spent evening after evening alone in his room, making his models, or playing his records.  
Although it never seemed to really bother him, it was something that worried his Gran greatly, knowing that if she wasn't around, for whatever reason, he was going to be left by himself. 

Which was why she'd been so joyful when he'd got together with Bernadette.  
It seemed such an unlikely partnership. Edith Flynn had feared for its success from the start.  
She knew that Dillon would fling himself into it, as he always did when anyone took a little notice of him, and it was so often doomed to failure.  
She'd seen girlfriends come and go.  
Each time he'd be madly in love, only to be dowsed with cold water and cast aside for whatever reason.  
He was either too shy, or too full on, or he was awkward socially, made a tit of himself, there was only black and white with Dillon, he didn't know how to pretend. Heart on his sleeve. What you saw was what you got.  
A simple soul, polite, well mannered, capable of giving and in need of receiving, great affection, but no real way of channelling it. 

Bernadette was a confident, bohemian girl. Bright, articulate, and gregarious.  
Her affection for Dillon seemed, at first, to be misplaced. 

But no. 

Bernadette wanted someone who was kind and loving, someone who didn't treat her like an object or a spare part. Who wasn't cruel or violent. 

It made Gran's heart sing to see them together. They clicked somehow, on so many levels.  
She could go away on her trip safe in the knowledge that she'd left Dillon in safe hands.  
There was no doubt in her mind that Bernadette loved him, she saw in him a kindred spirit.  
It was perfectly obvious that her grandson was wildly in love with her. She'd never seen him so enamoured, and she fervently hoped it would last.  
They would make it, and they'd be okay. 

Please God! 

oOo

Rain fell in torrents. Pouring in little rivers down the window pane.  
Dillon stood peering out into the street at the people hurrying by.  
Bent over against the flurry, umbrellas low, to ward off the worst. 

Around him half unpacked boxes lay, the contents spilling out like entrails.  
A partially built shelf unit behind him.

His new place. A 1930's terrace. With a bay window.  
Not so very far from where he'd been brought up, but far enough to be more salubrious. The old brick flats left behind. With their tatty run down appearance and the smell of stale urine in the stairwells.  
This street had trees!  
All it required was a lick of paint and it would be fresh and clean and new.  
Bernadette came in carrying a vase of chrysanthemums which she placed on the low table.  
Walking over to stand next to Dillon as he gazed out wistfully, coffee cup in hand.

"Not a lot of unpacking is being done!" She remarked. 

"Sorry, got distracted." He turned to look at her and smiled. 

"It'll be okay Dillon. This place is so nice, and once you get all your things around you, set to rights, it'll feel like home. You'll see." She threaded her fingers into the palm of his free hand. 

He was silent for a few moments.  
Then he spoke, very quietly....

"Live with me." 

"What?" Bernadette was stunned. 

"Move out of that cold, damp squat, and come to live here, with me." 

"Okay then."

It took a few seconds for her reply to sink in.  
In fact he actually heard her say 'no' in his head, that she wasn't ready, that she didn't want to, that it was too soon, she liked her independence, her freedom. She loved him but she wasn't sure, she'd be doing it for all the wrong reasons.  
He sighed deeply, and stared down at his own feet. 

"I understand if you don't want to." He muttered. 

"Dillon! I said okay then. I will!"


	10. Living Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I'm attempting to show how far Dillon has come. How his relationship with Berni has developed and strengthened. 
> 
> Hence the scene at the end. When, following the dinner, they are alone together and are sharing their innermost thoughts. 
> 
> It is a step forwards for both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note here about Dillon's voices. 
> 
> Dillon hears things talking to him.  
> Lifts, sinks, toilets etc.  
> Now there can be various causes for this. Dillon himself thinks that it's the result of his parents drug taking activities, that have somehow affected his brain.  
> A doctor would probably suspect symptoms of schizophrenia but there can be a variety of other causes too. One of the main ones is a form of Post Traumatic Stress disorder, and since the symptoms almost entirely disappear when he is happily settled with Bernadette, I'm going with this. I think the profound effect of his parents loss have coloured his entire life, and he is only now beginning to find some peace and healing.

CHAPTER TEN.  
LIVING TOGETHER.

All week the weather remained atrocious. Ceaseless rain. Cold and grey. 

Somehow the misery couldn't penetrate the walls of Dillon's new home.  
Inside there was a glow.

Macrame lanterns, coloured rugs. Comfy chairs. 

The hallway sported an old fashioned hall stand.  
Purchased from an antique stall in the market. Delivered by Elvis strapped to the back of his van. Carved oak. Undamaged, with a patina of many years of love and wear.

Bernadette had fallen in love with it.  
It had a little hinged box for gloves, a mirror, an umbrella and walking stick stand, which was lead lined, and a cupboard for coats and shoes. There was a smell of lavender furniture polish and beeswax.  
Her joy was to collect eclectic vintage pieces. Little items that were previously cherished and then discarded. Mainly from house sales, junk shops and market stalls. Sometimes she struck lucky and the find was a genuine article, like the Art Deco glass ornament she purchased which she discovered had the Lalique mark on the base. Or the 1960's Portmeirion cups and saucers which graced the shelf in the kitchen.  
A few of Edith's heirlooms were also given a prominent position, bringing a part of his Gran's home into his own, giving an air of familiarity and homeliness. 

The house had a large glass conservatory tacked onto the back, which rapidly became a studio. Easels and canvasses, paints and pots of turps, littered the new shelves. His models had pride of place, alongside her artist's paraphernalia. A working space with wonderful light.  
Dillon often sat in the old wicker chair out there, just watching her work. It gave him an inordinate amount of pleasure. 

The bannisters were painted post office red. Muted greys and ivories on the walls. Splashes of colour in the cushions, curtaining and soft furnishings. Pictures were mainly Berni's own, which were Dillon's favourites, although there were a few prints and other artworks around the place, mainly pieces she picked up from bazaars and antique fairs, a carved wooden mask, a ceramic plate from a pottery in Cornwall. They only cost her peanuts, but she had a good eye and found all sorts of quirky and original items of bric a brac, with which to enhance their home.  
Strung across the headboard of their bed were fairy lights. An Indian cotton coverlet, patterned like a henna tattoo, in aquamarines and blues. 

Dillon had gone from living a somewhat stale existence with just his Gran, to sharing his life with two young and attractive women.  
Two, because Bernadette's moving out had left Linda in the lurch. She didn't want to stay in the squat alone, and had no one else she could ask to share with her. The only logical solution was to take her as a lodger, as they had a perfectly adequate spare room.  
Linda wasn't there a great deal anyway, and kept herself pretty much to herself when she was. 

Dillon soon became used to being surrounded by flimsy items of feminine underwear, the scent of perfume and hair spray. Bernadette was often seen sporting one of his favourite t shirts, as night wear, and very attractive she looked in it too!  
His razor was borrowed for leg shaving and the blade blunted.  
Was nothing sacred?  
He'd never had that when he lived with Gran! 

Everything was shared; chores, cleaning, shopping, there were no gender assigned tasks here.  
Bernadette was just as likely to mend wiring or decorate as Dillon was, and he in turn would happily clean or iron or learn to cook.  
However both women were good cooks, and both seemed to think it was their mission to keep him adequately fed. 

oOo

Edith and Maurice were their first ever guests. Invited for dinner. 

For Dillon's Gran, entering the home that her beloved grandson had made his own, was a moment of catharsis.  
All the years she had cared for him, moulded him, loved him, it was as if he had really, truly and finally, found his feet.

Out he came, from the direction of the kitchen. 

Wearing an apron, and rubber gloves. 

Maurice did his best to disguise a smile. 

"Well, look at the house Frau!" He laughed.

"Be quiet, Maurice." Bernadette scolded. "Dillon has been working hard all afternoon......creating! He's quite the chef!" 

"YOU! You cooked the dinner?" Edith was stunned. 

Dillon smiled with a childish delight. 

"Linda and Bern have been teaching me.....I love it.....it's fun!" 

Gran watched proceedings that evening most carefully, her maternal radar fully engaged. She observed Dillon and Bernadette together, standing shoulder to shoulder at the sink. She saw their eyes meet as he looked down at her, saw the love shining there. Smiled to herself as the young woman's hand ghosted across his back as she moved away. Such a tiny gesture, but one of depth and meaning.  
They were at ease, comfortable with each other, and it meant the world to her.

He was settled, at home, happy.  
She could go on her trip now, she could enjoy herself and relax. Have real fun for the first time in so many years, such as she hadn't experienced for almost as long as she could remember.  
Leaving would be so much less painful, now that she was quite sure. 

Dillon was happy, and in love. 

More in love than she had ever seen anyone, and it was all she'd ever wanted for him. 

As for Bernadette......well......independent and strong as she was, Edith Flynn knew her better. Here was a woman who wanted just what Dillon was best placed to give her. Devotion, kindness, security, something she'd never really known before. 

It made her heart glad. 

Around the table they sat, all the family he'd ever known. The bond they shared going right back to the little three year old boy, newly orphaned, with his shock of chestnut hair, a skinny runt, who cried at the slightest injury, be it real or imaginary. So quiet and serious and so desperate for any crumb of affection. 

She'd done her best. Tried to toughen him up. Make a man of him. Be there for him.  
Nurture him.  
Gran soon discovered just how vulnerable he was, how deeply affected by the loss of his parents. 

How it continued to colour his life as he grew older. 

The love child. 

Always apart from his peers, lonely, seen as a bit of a freak, a geek, largely friendless and solitary. She'd feared for him always. Such a simple soul, how would he ever fend for himself without her? 

Now, here he was. 

A man. 

Full grown.  
With a home of his own.  
A life.  
A love. 

Well! Who would have thought it. 

She beamed with pride. 

oOo

Bernadette lay in bed listening to the rain, still cascading down outside. Tinkling on the rooftop above and into the gutter, pummelling against the windows.  
A soft and restful sound, lulling her into a comfortable restfulness.  
Dillon was curled around her body, his head tucked almost under her chin. Their legs entangled.  
She could hear his measured breathing, the little sigh he gave every so often. Feel the almost baby softness of his skin, pale and delicate as it was.  
His hand rested against her chest, the long elegant fingers splayed across her sternum, twitching slightly as he slept. 

He did not fully comprehend her life before they met, she mused. There was much she'd yet to reveal to him.  
On the outside, appearing so assured and confident, but she hid a great deal.  
Finding Dillon had been the saving of her, although he didn't know it. The days leading up to her moving into the squat, the lowest of her entire life. Escaping from a relationship far more abusive than she'd admitted to. Not always physical abuse, but abuse nevertheless. 

Tears began to fall from her, silently. 

Now she was safe. Because she knew Dillon would never knowingly do anything to hurt her, and he had no real idea just how deeply she loved and trusted him.  
At first he'd been so pathetically eager to please her, seemingly astonished that she was even interested in him, but now the dynamic had changed, it was she that was absurdly grateful to him. 

He was gentle and sweet. His affection genuine and profound. 

A mutual and precious bond formed. 

He stirred, and moved in her arms, with a whimper of wakefulness. She kissed his hair, and he raised his head, in mute question.  
"Bern?" He whispered.  
"Shhh! Go back to sleep." Was her murmured reply.  
"You okay?" His voice was thick with sleep.  
"Yeah. I'm fine." The tremor in her tone betrayed her.  
Reaching up he touched her cheek with the pad of one finger, in the darkness. Feeling the wetness there.  
He sat up then, although he couldn't see her face properly in the half light.  
"Bern? You're crying. What is it?"  
She sniffed a response.  
"It's nothing, okay! I was just thinking about something and it made me a bit emotional, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about!"  
"Please tell me. It's not me is it? I haven't done anything?" A note of concern entered his voice. 

Pulling him back into her embrace, she kissed his forehead.  
"No, silly. I was just thinking how I can lie here with you, or be with you without fear. And that's pretty huge.....for me anyway."  
Dillon nestled against her, threading his arms underneath her body so that he could hold her close.  
"I'm glad. Glad that you're not afraid anymore. Especially glad that you're not afraid of me.....I hope I never give you cause to be." 

Their lips met for a long moment. Slow and deliberate, deep and with passion. 

"Bern, can I tell you something now?" He whispered when they eventually parted.  
She waited in silence, as he took a breath in, steeling himself.  
"I used to hear things......talking to me......quite a lot.......but it's stopped now."  
She shifted herself under him, and tilted his face towards her.

"What things?" 

Dillon shrugged his shoulders as if it was the most normal thing in the world and he was in no way fazed by it. 

"Sinks and toilets mostly. Sometimes other things, like tin cans in the street, or lifts.....they would talk.....or at least in my head they did. I thought I was bonkers. I went to the doctor and he said it was down to stress, my nerves, because it's worse when I'm worried about stuff........I've never told anyone before." 

"And it's stopped now?" 

"Yeah. I haven't had it for months. It's vanished, just like that."

Bernadette hummed softly and stroked a hand down his spine. 

"That's good Dillon. Maybe it was down to the things that happened to you, as a kid." 

"Yeah. Maybe....." He paused, "I think it's stopped cos of you.......God, I love you Bern......"

He manoeuvred himself over her, his body on top of hers, a knee between her legs, still holding her tight, placing kisses against her face, on her lips, tenderly. One hand moving up and around her head, touching her hair.

"Make love to me." She murmured, bringing both her legs around him and crossing them behind his knees.  
"I want you Dillon. I want you because you make me feel safe, and I love you."

He touched her gently, testing her readiness, his fingers exploring and caressing her until she moaned beneath him.  
"Considering you're pretty new to this, you catch on bloody fast." She whispered, as his kisses continued, and she gasped with need. 

This was it.  
This was what he loved so much about being with her. Feeling her, knowing that she welcomed him, even craved him, needed him, and tonight he was sure she did. 

Positioning himself, her hand guiding him, pushing into her slowly, carefully, her legs lifting and widening to allow him to thrust deeper. That delicious sensation of her close and tight around him, her inner muscles rippling against his length as she urged him on. 

Tonight it was different, everything felt acutely sensual, the stimulation more powerful and enhanced.  
Skin on skin. The pleasure more intense. She was crying out beneath him, lifting herself off the bed to meet his rhythm as she'd never done before, begging him to go harder, faster......to love her.....love her more completely.  
He'd gone into her bare.  
The very first time he'd ever done that, and it felt amazing. Totally different to wearing a condom, so sensitive, so intimate.  
His whispered protestations brushed aside. 

No! They were doing this. It was okay she said. She was taking The Pill now, now that their relationship was more official. 

No unplanned Love Child for them. 

Practical. Logical. 

He whispered to her, choking out the words; God how he wanted her, could relish the feel of himself within her. Had she any idea how much she meant to him? What he wouldn't do for her?  
His words were enough, arching herself, she was coming, with a final strangled gasp of ecstasy. Her hands cupping his arse, pushing him into her as far as she could. Tipping him over the edge with that gesture.  
Giving Dillon Flynn the orgasm of his life. 

Remaining at one with her, as he softened. Not wishing to relinquish the closeness, the warmth and oneness he'd experienced. Breathing slowing as he placed gentle kisses against her hot flesh.  
Wetness between her legs, on her thighs, because of him, from him. A new sensation.   
His head buried into her neck, resting his weight against her, her hands on his back, stroking now, calming him, quiet terms of ebbing passion and fulfilment.  
They slept without bothering to clean themselves. Drained. Exhausted by emotional as well as physical release.  
A tangle of arms and legs, and creased bed covers. 

Oblivious to everything except each other. 

Contented.


	11. Goodbye Gran.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The momentous day has finally arrived. 
> 
> Dillon has worked himself into a bit of a state......this isn't going to be easy.......

CHAPTER ELEVEN.  
GOODBYE GRAN.

The day had gone better than Bernadette could have expected.   
Dillon's head was resting against the cool window of the train, as they returned to London.

It was over. 

He was completely exhausted. Wrung out. Sleeping fitfully.  
Unable and unwilling to let go of her hand. Clasped tightly, his fingers gripping hers, as if to let go would somehow shatter him, even in slumber. As if holding on to her, was holding him together. 

Bernadette knew that Dillon had been on edge all that week.   
Knowing that the date had been set, the day Edith and Maurice sailed off into the sunset.   
This final seven days had been, by far, the hardest. 

Having an actual number ringed on the calendar, gave the whole thing an air of finality. Of impending doom.   
Bernadette had been quite worried about her house mate and bed fellow.  
Quiet and withdrawn, eating very little, not sleeping well. A bundle of nerves.   
She'd come to bed one evening to hear him in the bathroom, talking loudly. Sounding upset. 

"Shut up! Shut up! I'm not listening to you!" She'd heard him say.   
That night she held him especially close.  
"Voices again, right?" She asked.  
He sniffed slightly and nodded.   
"It'll settle down, Dillon. You're working yourself into a state. It'll be okay. Once the day is over you'll find it's easier, it's just the build up, it's a big, big thing for you. Bound to put you out of sorts." 

oOo

The ship moored at the dockside towered over everything. It was like looking up at a block of flats.   
There was a band playing on the quayside.   
Numerous people were there to see their relatives off on their trip of a lifetime.  
Smiles. Happy faces. Hugs and kisses and joy. 

Dillon felt as if his insides were being slowly disgorged. He had a pain in his chest, and was lightheaded.  
Gran was brightly cheerful but stoic. Maurice fussing unnecessarily with the luggage.   
The vast concourse milled with chattering people, a huge hangar, one seething mass of humanity.......and suitcases.

The moment was finally here. 

The one that Dillon had been dreading for weeks now, ever since he'd known the official departure date. 

Maurice clapped him on the back, as he pulled him into a strong hug. 

"You look after yourself, son, and look after that girl of yours! Don't you forget, your old grandad will see you right......if you need anything......anything at all.....you come to me. We'll keep in touch, and one day, everything I have will be yours. You're my only living relative, and I've made you my heir. I want you to have a good life. Not struggle, not like your Gran has....it's my fault she had to scrimp all her bloody life.....and I want to make that up to the pair of you!" 

"Thanks grandad. I'm glad you came back, and that we got to know each other. I'm glad for Gran. Because she's always dreamed of travel, and she's always had me to consider, so she's never done the things she wanted....now she can! Have a great trip, and I will keep in touch, I promise. And you.....you look after my Gran......okay.......? She means the world to me!" 

They separated and stepped back, Maurice moved on to speak to Bernadette, whilst Dillon turned to his grandmother.

"Dillon, come over here a minute." Taking his arm, she pulled him to one side, away from the maelstrom, into a quiet corner.

They stood facing, looking into each other's eyes searchingly. Her hands clasping his forearms tightly. 

"Well, this is it." Her eyes darted from his, and back again, delaying the moment for a few seconds longer. 

"Yeah. This is it." Dillon's face was so pale, she thought he might pass out. 

"Dillon......I........" Her voice faltered.

"Don't Gran! Don't be upset for me. You are finally doing something for you. After over twenty five years of never ever thinking of yourself. It's all good. It's right. I want you to have a bloody ball. I want you to live it up, enjoy all the wonderful places, and be happy. But most of all I don't want you to think about me, or worry. Cos I'll be fine." 

She held him then, with a sudden desperation, just for a few moments. A sob leaving her which she instantly attempted to force down.

"No! I'm not going to cry." She pulled back slightly. "Christ, if ever I needed a bloody fag!! Dillon, I've always done the best I can. I know I wasn't a good mother to you, but I tried, I know I wasn't always kind, and fuck knows I'm hopeless at this stuff.....my Susan was always so independent, so free, she didn't want mothering, and you were different. You needed me badly, and sometimes I resented that, and I'm sorry. But look at you!" She touched his face with one hand.   
"I'm so proud of you. You've grown into such a lovely young man. So kind, and sensitive, a real dear......completely unlike the rest of the Flynn's or my family!! I look at you now and I can hardly believe you're my grandson." 

"Gran, you did great. You did what you could, I don't resent that. Why would I?" He held on to her jacket, despite her attempt to free herself and move back. 

"You were always such a funny little bugger. Never knew what to make of yer! Wiv your books and your records and your models! But now I understand better. You've got more depth in you than all of us put together! And that Berni......she can see it, where we couldn't! Take care of her, Dill......she needs you, she's not as strong as she makes out......there's more to come out of her yet, and you'll need to be her support when it does. She'll need you more than ever. You have strength in you that even you don't realise. You make a good pair, and she loves you....listen to your old Gran! She can see it, and she knows how a woman feels.....trust me on that!" 

"I love her too Gran. She's wonderful. But I'm gonna miss you so much. I don't remember mum. It's only ever been me and you!" 

"I know, chuck. But you'll be alright. And maybe you'll come and see me, spend a bit of time? If we decide to settle in Australia?"

"Cos I will! You try'n stop me!" 

They parted finally. Gran holding Dillon at arms length, to take one last look at him. As if as soon as she boarded the ship, she'd forget his face.   
His jaw was set.  
No tears.  
Not from either of them. 

It was a happy time. 

The beginning of a new life for both grandmother and grandson. 

Their last look at one other should not be to see the other in tears. It wouldn't be right.   
So they put on their brave masks. Smiled, laughed. 

"If he misbehaves you have my permission to belt him one!" Gran said to Bernadette, cocking her thumb at Dillon. 

"And you!" She spun around towards Dillon. "Come and hug yer Gran one last time, you toe-rag. You look after that girl. She's a diamond. You be a thorough gentleman, and make sure you treat 'er like a lady. Always!" 

"I will Gran! I promise!" 

"And don't you dare get her up the duff before you've married her.....break the fucking tradition! Do it right!" Gran winked wickedly at both of them.

"GRAN!!" Dillon blushed furiously.

"Don't worry, Edith. No Love Child for us just yet......I've got other plans for this one!" Bernadette chuckled, unfazed by her words, threading her arm through Dillon's and pulling him close, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. 

"Good for you! And you'll see 'em through too. I'll be bound. I can see it in yer. You'll make it work the pair of you. And the best of luck to you both." 

Then they were gone.

Bernadette and Dillon went to the viewing gallery, where they could see up onto the decks. 

The band played.  
Coloured paper streamers rained down from above, fluttering in the breeze, making a last connection between ship and shore, as the vast vessel began to move away from the quayside.

They spotted each other, just as She began to move forwards, with long blasts from her foghorns.  
Waving frantically.  
The hull sliding away, effortlessly slipping its moorings and heading down the Solent, to start its adventure.

Dillon stood watching long after all the others had departed. 

Holding Bernadette's hand in his own. Very tight. 

His face impassive. 

Silent. 

Eyes misty, but dry. 

He heaved a deep sigh and finally turned away.

"C'mon!" He said. "Let's go home."


	12. Take the High Road.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bernadette has an idea....Dillon is not so sure it's a good one! 
> 
> This is the final chapter. 
> 
> It ends with the a piece giving an insight into the couple's future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit of an art buff, I love to paint and draw, and go to exhibitions whenever I can. When I was thinking about artworks suitable for an idea of what Bernadette might paint, three artists came to mind. This first link is for Lucien Freud, who is one of my favourite artists of the male (and female) form. His skin tones and warts and all realism are wonderful. 
> 
> https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=lucian+freud&client=safari&hl=en-gb&prmd=inv&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiMo8Wh9LHMAhXDSBQKHUulDnwQ_AUIBygB&biw=1024&bih=704 
> 
> The second artist, who immediately sprung to mind is Stanley Spencer RA. I've seen a great deal of Spencer's work. He often painted himself nude and the paintings are truly inspirational, full of such pathos and emotion. Here is a Google link to some of his works. 
> 
> https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=stanley+spencer&client=safari&hl=en-gb&prmd=isvn&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiwz6up9rHMAhUKjSwKHeX3CrEQ_AUIBygB&biw=1024&bih=704&dpr=2
> 
> But the picture that captures Dillon best, for me, which is the nearest to what I imagine would be Bernadette's style and the sort of portrait of Dillon that she might paint is this one.  
> It is by Richard Gerstl. Who was an Austrian painter who died tragically young at the age of twenty-five. It is a beautiful beautiful picture, and it captures Dillon perfectly.  
> I include it at the end of the story. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I urge you to take a look. AND ENJOY!!

CHAPTER TWELVE.  
TAKE THE HIGH ROAD.

Life settled into a pretty mundane routine after Dillon's Gran left. 

Each morning he rose, went off to work, and came home again in the evening. 

Bernadette was working on a series of small canvasses. She had sold another couple of her pictures but was constantly frustrated at the task of trying to get her paintings exhibited. 

No one wanted to know. It was a gradual process of chipping away at her self esteem. 

Constant rejection was tiring. 

It stifled her creative juices too. Somehow it was so much harder to work on a piece that you knew no one was ever going to see, or buy, or even like. 

The London Galleries were very sniffy. The provincial ones more so. 

It was all very depressing. 

Dillon's faith in her never wavered. His constant support and encouragement was all that kept her going. 

One Saturday morning they were together in her conservatory studio. Dillon was sitting curled in his favourite wicker chair, reading his Space Explorer magazine.

She threw down her brush suddenly in frustration. 

"God! I can't fucking do this! It's shite....!" 

Dillon glanced up from his article.

"Bern, why don't you leave it for a while. Go back to it afresh later. Sometimes when things don't work, it's best to take a break." 

Seeing him sitting there, his gangly legs furled beneath him, the sunlight shafting down onto him through the skylight, he looked almost deified. Impossibly handsome, to her at least, in his blue shirt and jeans. Looking up at her from his seat, his expression at once kindly, quizzical, and very sweet. 

Bernadette picked up her note book and some charcoal, and began to make a rough sketch of him. She wanted to capture that moment, his doe eyes, his half smile, the way he sat, as if he were folded, with his long elegant fingers holding the magazine. His bare toes peeping out from under him. 

His head dropped and he went back to his reading, unaware of her scrutiny. 

The result was something quite exquisite. 

When she showed him the finished study he was stunned.

It was him. Captured for all time.

The light on the side of his face, his concentration. The pose natural and unforced. Totally relaxed and unselfconscious.

A thing of beauty. Astonishing, and quite possibly the best thing she'd ever drawn. 

Happening just like that. In a mere moment of seeing, then immediately executing. 

"God, Bern. You're so bloody clever. Look at that! It's just beautiful."

"No! YOU! You are beautiful. You could become my muse!" She smiled, and kissed him deeply.

oOo

The following day, over breakfast, Dillon could tell that Berni was working up to something. She was fidgety, regarding him earnestly across the table.  
He paused mid-mouthful.  
"What?" He challenged, resting down his knife and fork.  
"I'd like to draw and paint you. Do some studies of you.....get you to pose for me.....would you do it?"  
Dillon shrugged nonchalantly.  
"Sure!" He acquiesced. 

"Really? Just like that? No qualms?" She raised her eyebrows in surprise.  
"Why not? You sketched me yesterday. I didn't even know you were doing it!" 

"But this would be different Dillon. More like a life class. I'd need you to pose properly for me, and be naked." 

Dillon choked on his mouthful of tea, spitting it onto the table. 

"WHAT? You want me starkers? Bloody hell Bern.....that's not what I thought you meant!" 

"What's the big deal.....we sleep together, I see you nude all the time?" 

"Oh come on Bern! We're in bed then.....it's not me sitting on a fucking cushion in the middle of the downstairs with Linda wandering about and me with me meat and two veg on display!" 

Bernadette laughed and reached over to kiss him. 

"I wouldn't do it when Linda was here, silly. It would just be you and me. You never know, you might enjoy it!" 

Dillon frowned.  
"I somehow doubt that!" 

oOo

Attempting to get Dillon settled was hard work. A tea chest left over from the move was placed in the middle of the floor space, with a cushion on top and a piece of velvet draped over it.  
Bernadette was trying her best to position Dillon correctly onto it. 

She began by undoing his shirt buttons, but he got all antsy and batted her hands away.  
"I can undress myself you know!" He moaned.  
"I was trying to help you to relax! I thought if I did it, it would be nice, you'd like it."  
"I'll do it myself!" He retorted, shrugging his shirt down from his shoulders and pulling his arms out. 

Trousers and pants followed and he stood in front of her with his hands over his man parts, coyly. 

"Why are you doing that?" Bernadette asked with a raise of one eyebrow, hands on hips.  
"Because I feel bloody stupid, and you're looking at me......like....like you're gonna eat me......and it's broad daylight, and I feel like I'm standing in a shop window!" 

"Dillon.....really! I've seen you in daylight before with nothing on....why are you being so shy all of a sudden?" 

"Says the woman who's still wearing all her clothes!" 

"I'll take them off if you like.....I don't care!" She replied with defiance.

"WHAT? No!" Dillon's eyes widened, and his voice went up an octave. 

"Why not?" 

"Because!" He shifted uneasily. 

"Because? You're afraid it'll turn you on...?" She eyed him with amusement.

"NO! Yes!.....Maybe.......I suppose!" He responded and sat down on the box with a huff. 

"Good grief! People are paid to sit for life classes in Art School. With a whole mixed class looking at them intently! Imagine that!" 

"I don't want to thanks! They must be exhibitionists to do that, and not to care.....I bloody couldn't, that's for certain!" 

"Dillon, it's only me......all you have to do is relax, take up the pose I give you and sit there. Okay? That's it. I'm sure you'll manage that without becoming aroused. Now, come on, let's get you into the right posture." 

Before he had time to protest further, she began to arrange him. 

In seconds he went from his usual rather boneless, loose limbed fluidity, to ram rod straight and his body as stiff as a poker. There was absolutely no chance of an erection, he was far too self conscious and uncomfortable for that.

"Relax! For gods sake! Just let it go Dillon........breathe.......that's better. Now rest your hand there, on your thigh. And your other arm across yourself."

"Like this?" 

"Perfect! Now hold that thought!" 

She moved behind the easel.

"Can I talk?" 

"Of course you can talk, silly. As long as you hold still." 

Bernadette's gaze travelled appreciatively over the man now seated before her.  
Her man, ostensibly.  
All hers.  
Or so he constantly told her. Watching her nervously now, as if he were about to be tortured.  
Eyes almost pleading for mercy. The colour of sea foam, with still uncharted depths.  
Deep enough to swim in and lose yourself forever.

He had beautiful pale skin, and the sunlight played across it, highlighting the blueish veins underneath.  
His rib muscle beneath the chest wall rippled slightly as he breathed in and out.  
Angular and pointed. Knees and elbows especially. Skinny, with narrow hips.  
A certain tension in the thigh, where the hamstring pulled down to behind the knee. A well defined calf, with sinew taut like bowstring.  
One delicate hand rested gently on his left leg, his head turned slightly away from her, but glancing down. Strong jaw, large and beaky nose, and a stern masculine brow ridge, which sometimes made him look cross when he wasn't. Topped with ridiculously thick chestnut hair, firmly tamed today, but with stubborn curls at the back of his neck, at the nape, which refused to conform.

He was an artist's dream. 

After a while Dillon forgot he was sitting there, being scrutinised to within an inch of his life. 

His thoughts wandered away.  
To Pete and Susan, his parents, dim and indistinct snapshots only. His Gran and himself as a child. Lying in bed and being afraid of the dark, but too scared to wake her in case she was angry with him.  
Knocking on Bernadette's door that fateful day, to ask if she needed help to decorate. Following her upstairs, making love to her, the first ever time, and how he felt afterwards sitting on the tube. Their day out in Southend. How happy he'd been. 

By the side of him he could hear the scratch of the charcoal, and the rustle of her long skirt as she moved around the canvas. 

Otherwise she was silent. 

Bare footed. 

At first he talked, but gradually he fell into his quiet reverie.  
Lost in daydreams and memories. 

"Dillon, you're frowning." Her hushed voice snapped him awake, he almost felt as if he'd dozed off, but he hadn't. He'd just zoned out completely. 

"Sorry!" He murmured. 

"I think that's enough for today." 

"Really? It hasn't been long." 

"Four hours Dillon. My hand aches." 

"Four hours? Christ! Where did I go? For four hours!" 

She laughed. 

"La la land!" 

"I was gone. Completely.....that's so weird!" 

"I'm going to take some Polaroids, before you move. So I can recreate the pose. Sit still a moment longer please." 

She moved around him, the camera whirring. Examining each shot as it developed, nodding with satisfaction, then taking another. 

"That's it!" She smiled finally. "All done." 

Dillon stretched himself and yawned. 

"Can I see?" He asked, with barely contained excitement. 

"Sure!" She stepped back from the canvas and began cleaning her brushes. 

"Oh, my god! Bernadette! It's wonderful! Crikey......do I really look like that? Wow! I look like a Greek god or something......holy moly!" 

"You like it......not finished yet of course....lots more work to do......?" 

"Bern, it's astonishing.......this is in a different league from your other stuff.....really it is! I'm not just saying that. It's the light.....the sense of stillness, everything. It's really something!! I love it!" 

oOo

The latest postcard from Gran and Maurice arrived from Acapulco. Dillon perused it with a smile and added it to the others on the kitchen shelf. The more he saw these pictures of exotic places, the more he seemed to have itchy feet.  
Work seemed staid. Life passing him by. Stuck in an office. He felt he should be out there, seeing the world.....he'd never felt that way before. 

Months had passed. Gran was on her way to Australia and New Zealand now.  
She seemed a million miles away.  
The postman had delivered other letters that weekend morning. Bills and junk mail, and one for Bernadette. 

She had completed several pictures of Dillon. Studies in various poses. But one in particular of him standing, from a sketch, turned out even better than the first one she'd done of him sitting.  
It was superb. 

Dillon poured coffee and passed it to her as she sat down opposite, then slid the letter across the table.  
"This just came."  
Bernadette examined the envelope carefully. Then tore it open.  
She perused it silently for a few seconds, then began to cry.  
Dillon was alarmed.  
"Bern! What on earth? What is it? What's wrong?" 

Bernadette looked up from her reading, then flung her arms around his neck, sobbing there, as he did his best to comfort her. It was several minutes before she could speak. 

"It's from the Maureen Paley Gallery.......in Bethnal Green. They've accepted the portrait.....the standing one of you.....and they want more.......oh my god.....Dillon.......oh my god!" 

Dillon began to dance around the kitchen, holding her in his arms, swinging her from side to side and braying like a manic donkey. 

"I knew it! I knew it! Oh you clever clever girl!" He cried. 

oOo

_Six months later._

It was a rather grey February day, but nothing could dampen Dillon's mood. A rucksack at his feet as he waited in line for coffee.  
Bernadette held his hand, squeezing it every now and then. 

"Excited?" She whispered.  
"Yeah! And terrified!" He responded nervously.  
"But it's good? Isn't it? What we're doing?" She looked into his eyes, suddenly uncertain.  
He leaned down and kissed her mouth with passion, causing others in the queue to stare. But Dillon didn't notice, nor did he care.  
"Cos it is! It's our chance, our future! And we're taking it! If not now, then when?"

Bernadette had a series of well acclaimed works of Dillon at the Gallery. People suddenly loved her stuff. She'd received commissions from it. Sold three or four pictures for a high price.  
'Up and coming', that was how they'd described her. It wasn't Picasso but it was sure as hell a start! 

Now here they were, waiting for their flight.  
Dillon Flynn, who never been on an aeroplane. Never even owned a passport until recently.  
Off to Europe, travelling......  
Jacked in his job, taken out his considerable savings from it. Linda was staying in their house to look after it.

Bernadette was looking for artistic opportunities, to sketch and paint as they journeyed from place to place.....France, Italy, Greece, other countries that may take their fancy. Then on to India. Thailand. Heading towards Australia eventually to visit his Gran.  
A trip that had first been a whim, then a dream, finally a reality. When they both realised there was nothing whatever to stop them.  
His voices disappeared, her fear banished. 

The world was waiting. 

Their gate call was announced over the tannoy. 

Bernadette pulled him down for another kiss.

"Any idea how special you are to me, Dillon? If you hadn't knocked and asked to help that day at the squat, we wouldn't be standing here today.....my paintings of you are the best I've ever done, because I can pour all of myself into them, because you mean everything.......you know that right!" 

"Love you so so much Bern!" He whispered, his lips close to hers. 

"Today is the first day of the rest of our lives!" 

His arm was protectively around her shoulder as they passed through the barrier together, and into the exciting unknown. 

 

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has stuck with the story. I realise it's not a well known or popular fandom and the readership isn't likely to be big, but all your kind comments and kudos are much appreciated. Many thanks.

**Author's Note:**

> I've not gone nearly as strong with the accent or the expressions as I could have done, for fear that readers outside the UK will not be familiar with them.
> 
> It's not Cockney, since that belongs more to the East End....within the sound of Bow Bells and Dillon lives in Lambeth, which is south of the River. But there is a generic 'Londoner' speak and I use it freely in this story, and am very familiar with it. 
> 
> Don't hesitate to ask if I use any slang that you don't understand.....I'm happy to answer!


End file.
